Hours Until Morning: 12

Even though we talk for another twenty minutes, Will never opens up to me again—not the way he did when I brought up John Irving. I even try talking about books again later in our conversation, but the

walls are already up. He doesn’t trust me.

I guess that’s what you call paranoia. The antipsychotics might have gotten rid of the voices in his head, but some of the symptoms of his schizophrenia remain.

When I get out of room 906, I can’t help but look over at the seclusion rooms down the hall. The first room is still locked tight, the keypad glowing faintly green. I wonder what it must feel like to be locked inside a tiny room with no way out.

I have to pass by the seclusion room on the way back to the nursing station. I walk quietly, scared that the man inside is somehow watching me. That he will lure me over and get me to release him. After all, Gabby says I am very impressionable. She tells me I’m not allowed to watch commercials anymore because I buy everything I see an ad for.

I almost get past the room. I have just cleared the doorway when a horrible loud noise sounds from behind the door. A dull, sickening thud. It almost sounds like somebody has hurled himself at the door.

I jump back about three feet, pressing myself against the other wall. I hear the noise again, and this time the door to Seclusion One vibrates. And as I stare at the door, it happens again. That loud thud, followed by the door vibrating. And an anguished growl from inside.

Someone or something is trying to break down the door. But how can that be? Dr. Beck told me the man in that room is restrained.

Unless he got free from the restraints.

I gulp in air, trying to calm my racing heart. That’s when I hear another sound, one a lot less ominous. It’s the sound of a woman laughing.

I swivel my head to the right, and sure enough, a young woman is standing in one of the doorways. She’s got her hair gathered into a ponytail high atop her head, and while I guess you would call her a blonde, she’s got at least an inch of darker roots. She’s wearing a tank top with no bra, and a pair of pink sweatpants. And her eyes are blue, flecked with yellow.

“You,” she says, “are still pathetic.” “Jade,” I gasp.

I can’t believe I’m seeing her again after all these years. Nearly a decade since that day in high school when… Well, I don’t want to think about what happened that day. I’ve spent a long time trying not to.

“It’s been a while,” she acknowledges.

I scratch at a little dry patch on the back of my elbow. “You look great,” I say, almost automatically.

“Oh, shut up, Amy.” She crinkles the bridge of her nose. “I’m fat like a house. It’s from the medications. They make you want to eat until you explode.”

Jade isn’t “fat like a house,” as she’s so colorfully put it. She used to be way too skinny in high school—painfully thin—and now she looks like a healthier weight. But admittedly, she has purple circles under her eyes, and the hair coming out of her ponytail looks matted. I haven’t caught her on her best day. Then again, I’m wearing scrubs and sneakers without even a scrap of makeup. At least she’s got on some eyeliner and a slash of red lipstick.

“How are you doing?” I ask carefully.

“Not as good as you.” She looks me up and down, an appraising look in her eyes. “I guess you went to medical school, just like you always wanted.”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Too bad you had to destroy my life to get there.”

I suck in a breath. I thought maybe after all these years, Jade would have forgotten what happened. Well, not forgotten. But maybe look at it with a little more perspective. Maybe realized that I didn’t do what I did to ruin her life. That I didn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean it to happen the way it did. You know that.”

Jade doesn’t respond to my apology. She folds her arms across her chest, and I notice a long red scratch running down the skin of her left forearm.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” I blurt out.

She shoots me a seething look. “Yeah, so sorry you couldn’t even be bothered to come to the funeral.”

“It… it was a busy time for me.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Busy, important Amy. She’s got better things to do than pay her last respects to her best friend’s mother.”

I don’t bother to point out that when Mrs. Carpenter died, Jade and I hadn’t been friends in a long time. It wouldn’t make things better to say that.

“So you read my chart, I guess,” she says. “No, I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

“I didn’t.” I lift my chin. “I wouldn’t do that. That would be wrong.”

She laughs bitterly. “Yes, you’re just the queen of moral behavior, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t,” I insist. “I was just interviewing the guy in 906. That’s the only chart I’ve looked at tonight.”

Jade looks over at Room 906. The door is still cracked open, and presumably, Will is inside reading again. “Oh, him. He’s cute, isn’t he? Kind of your type. Lanky, nerdy.”

“Jade…” My cheeks burn. “He’s crazy. He has schizophrenia.” “Oh, so you’ve got something in common then, don’t you?”

There have been a few times in my life when I have wanted to smack Jade in the face, and this is one of them. Thankfully, I know enough to restrain myself. But I need to avoid her come three in the morning, because I won’t be thinking nearly as clearly by then.

“Anyway,” she says, “he’s more your type than that other dopey medical student. The big guy who keeps giving you the moon-faced looks. What—is he in love with you?”

“No.” Jade doesn’t need to hear the story about how I got dumped for the board exam. “I hardly know him.”

“If you say so,” Jade says in her singsong voice.

I hadn’t expected Jade to greet me with open arms, but I also hadn’t expected her to be this obnoxious and angry at me. I’ve got to make an effort to avoid her the rest of the night. I’m not in the mood for her mind games.

“I don’t have time to talk right now,” I tell her. “I have to get back to work.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” She pulls a frown. “Because I’ve got the entire night free with absolutely nothing to do.”

And then she winks at me.